


have you ever danced with the Devil in the pale moonlight?

by cinequeen



Category: Daredevil (TV), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marvel 616/MCU Crossover, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, blends elements of the comics and mcu, in which two dummies learn to maybe be functional humans, references to Star-Lord (2017), slow burn but not THAT slow burn. they're both impulsive idiots, welcome to my personal hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 23:37:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20714444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinequeen/pseuds/cinequeen
Summary: "'Peter Quill, I recommend you stop talking.'That was it — the moment Peter’s life got even more confusing than it had already been lately, the moment when a man in a suit and red glasses slung open the door of the interrogation room with commanding presence , changing the course of everything. Peter’s voice hitched in his throat, stopping midway into his fifteenth attempt at explaining that he, in fact, was not one of the bad guys this time— and yes, he knew what the guns in his hands made it look like."---When Peter Quill ends up stuck on Earth, separated from the Guardians and arrested, his fate lies in the hands of one New York Defense Attorney, Matt Murdock. Their chance encounter slowly unfurls into something much more than either of them could have ever anticipated as Matt struggles to keep his life as Matt Murdock and Daredevil separated while keeping a headstrong Star-Lord out of trouble.Loosely based on 'Grounded Star-Lord' (2017).





	1. An Arresting Situation

**Author's Note:**

> so you've found yourself in my rarepair hell -- welcome. I will be your enthusiastic guide on this wild, wondrous journey into the world of stardevil, a world which I've created. I'm so glad to have you. 
> 
> while this fic takes place in the MCU, peter quill I have written to be my ideal version of him -- mostly comic-based but with MCU elements. feel free to imagine him as whatever peter quill you prefer, but he is modeled primarily after the peter seen in Grounded Star-Lord (2017), which inspired this entire thing. I just want my boy to have the history and emotional depth of the comics, dammit! I still love MCU peter though. all peters are good peters. 
> 
> and, as always, I welcome your thoughts and comments. I'm the only one here in this place and I want to know what you think of my beloved little pairing! you can find me and more #stardevil content including my art on tumblr @ murdockquills (: ttfn

“Peter Quill, I recommend you stop talking.” 

That was it — the moment Peter’s life got even more confusing than it had already been lately, the moment when a man in a suit and red glasses slung open the door of the interrogation room with commanding presence , changing the course of everything. Peter’s voice hitched in his throat, stopping midway into his fifteenth attempt at explaining that he, in fact, was not one of the bad guys this time— and yes, he knew what the guns in his hands made it look like. His eyes scanned the man in the doorway incredulously, open-mouthed and squinting at the walking stick clutched in his hands. Normally, Peter would have a witty retort to the sudden demand, but found himself too surprised to eek out a sound. 

“Hey! Who do ya think you are, bargin’ in here?” The officer sitting opposite Peter questioned. 

“Matthew Murdock. I’m here on behalf of my client, who deserves my counsel — before you keep grilling him with questions, preferably.” 

“I don’t rememb —“ Peter started, only to see Murdock’s index finger raise from his cane as if to shush him. To his own surprise, he was obedient. 

The officer threw a dirty look to Matt and glanced between the two of them before obliging. “Fine, talk. Quill seems to have plenty of wind in him to keep going.” 

Matthew waited for the interrogator to brush past him before moving to close the door behind him. It was only then, as his fingers fumbled slightly to find the door’s edge, that Peter realized that the man couldn’t see. He was blind. Peter watched as Matt tapped the legs of the chair across from him with his cane before sitting. With a few clacks of metal, he folded up the walking stick and set it on the table beside his knitted fingers, offering up a small smile of greetings to Peter who still sat quietly on the other side. 

“I’m here to help you, Peter,” Matthew spoke plainly, hoping to spare the details. “You... don’t mind if I call you Peter, do you?” 

“How do you know who I am?” Peter asked, having at least a dozen other questions nagging in his head. He ran a hand into his thick mess of hair before trailing it down his forehead in visible confusion. First, he got stuck in this stinky, congested city on his home planet. Then, he got into a fight he didn’t start and ended up in jail. And now he’s got... this guy. Whoever the hell this guy was.

Matt chuckled lightly. “Well, you’re not exactly a secret. ‘Vigilante Star-Lord Arrested in Meatpacking District.’ I’ve heard some stories. Spaceman, savior of the galaxy, intergalactic thief - and _ hero _? I’m not sure I buy all that, but... you’ve certainly got quite the roster.” 

Peter felt a spike in his heart rate at the man’s soft laughter, feeling a little heat rush to his face in embarrassment as he glanced away. He’d certainly been in worse situations, but this was far from his most flattering. To know that his name was out in the news, being mocked by millions of New Yorkers at that very moment, and now being smugly repeated from the lips of this lawyer guy... It wasn’t exactly the legacy he had hoped to leave on Earth. “Peter’s fine,” he replied at length with a begrudging niceness, still subconsciously avoiding Matthew’s gaze out of shame, even though he knew it didn’t matter. He folded his arms across his chest, rubbing a pensive hand on the scruff that was starting to accumulate on his cheek. “If you don’t believe in all that, why are you here?” 

“I suppose I deserved to see for myself what the truth is. And you deserved someone to give you a chance.” Matt licked his lips out of habit, smirking slightly to disarm Peter’s defensiveness. He could sense the discomfort in the man across from him, the nervous rhythm of his heart. But he didn’t expect Pete to snort in response. 

“I’m not sure you’ll _ see _ anything for yourself, pal. Get it? Because --” 

“Ah. Yeah, that’s definitely not a joke I’ve heard before,” Matt deadpanned, pulling his hands off the table and dropping them on his lap as he sat back in the metal chair. He found himself getting distracted by the sound of Peter’s boyish chuckle and had to snap himself back to the business at hand. Matt blinked and cleared his throat quietly. 

“Um, you... you _are_ blind, right?” Peter asked sheepishly, suddenly feeling bad for the poor comment. 

“This is supposed to be about me asking _ you _ questions, Peter,” Matt replied, perhaps a little more seriously than he intended. 

“Right... sorry.” Peter let his hazel eyes fall to the table as he nodded once in agreement. 

When Peter had said nothing else, Matthew produced a recorder from inside a satchel he had carried with him, and placed it carefully on the metal table. Peter noted the buttons were labeled with what he assumed was braille, which Matt pressed and the machine whirred alive. “So, tell me, who are you, Peter Quill? Where do you come from?” 

“Well... I’m...... me? Uh, Star-Lord, Legendary Outlaw, leader of the Guardians of the Galaxy... or at least, I think I still am. I was born in Missouri —“

“So you’re from Earth?” 

“Yeah, kinda. My father was from the planet Spartax but my mother was from here.” 

Matt’s mouth opened as if he was about to speak, hanging silently while he processed what he had just heard. Nothing in Peter’s body seemed to indicate he was lying, and yet he couldn’t believe him. Maybe Peter Quill was just crazy, spouting off ridiculous tales of space adventures with such conviction he convinced _ himself _ that they were real. Or maybe he really was telling the truth. Matt wasn’t sure which was easier to accept. “So.... you’re half alien?” 

Peter scratched at the dark blonde hair on his chin. “Ah... yeah. Technically. Though I assure you I look no different than a man who is 100% human. An incredibly attractive, dashing, muscular human, I must add.” He tried to flash a charmingly lopsided grin only to be reminded by the barrier of Matthew’s glasses that his tricks wouldn’t work here. 

A small smile curled at the edge of Matt’s lips before he quickly forced it away and cleared his throat again. Peter’s eyebrow quirked a little at his reaction, surprised that he got any at all, before continuing. “And in case you’re wondering, no, I have no powers. The Spartoi half of me grants me nothing in particular.” Nothing in particular besides an entire kingdom, that is, but Peter had no desire to get into that mess. 

Matt cocked his head slightly, listening intently for any sign of a lie — a hitch in Peter’s breath, a skip of his heart, the clenching of fists... but he heard nothing to pique his interest. Peter, of course, was lying by omission. But not about the powers. “You’re just a guy who decides to exact justice on the galaxy? With what — guns?” 

“They’re called elemental blasters,” Peter corrected, taking a specific pride in his unique choice of weaponry. “They’re locked to my DNA and shoot whatever element I want. But I happen to use a lot of different tech, thank you. Not to.... ‘exact justice’. I’m just here to protect people — and occasionally we’re hired to do other things, for money.” 

“What kind of things?” 

“Not — not killing, if that’s what you’re thinking. Sometimes couriers, sometimes muscle for hire, sometimes we steal things but... but like Robin Hood. We steal for good reasons.” 

“Well, you know, my grandmother always told me the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.” Matthew smirked, and he noted a small spike in Peter’s heartbeat as the man huffed an amused breath out of his nose. After a silent moment, he realized he was getting off-track. 

“These Guardians… who are they? Where are they now? You said you... don’t know if you’re still their leader. I’d like to know why.” 

“We... had a fight. It was my fault. I’ve messed up, a lot, and they finally reached a breaking point, I guess. They all split off — Rocket, Groot, Gamora, Drax.... I can’t blame them. I ran from my problems. Ran straight into this planet. And now I’m stuck on this rock.” Peter’s voice fell thinking about his friends. His family. The reminder of his mistake weighed heavily on him, and of all places to sit and wallow, he wished it wasn’t his home planet. It carried too much sadness with it. Matthew could sense the way Peter swallowed hard to clear the lump forming in his throat, and decided it was a touchy subject. He moved on, for Peter’s sake. 

“Ran into it with your... _ spaceship _?” The word felt ridiculous coming out of Matt’s mouth, even he couldn’t take it seriously. He had a small hope of catching Peter in a technicality, of tricking him out of this bizarre rouse and figuring out that underneath the act was just a very confused man. But Peter still did not appear to be lying, nor did the news reports. He had dealt with a lot of weird shit in his day, it seemed pretty par for the course at this point that there’d be an actual spaceman sitting across from him now. 

Peter could tell that the lawyer found that fact unbelievable, so he laughed slightly to diffuse the awkwardness. “Yeah... my spaceship. Her name is the Milano. Or... was, but she’s practically torn to bits at this point. Some group called Alpha Flight picked me up, gave me a place to crash in Gowanus until I figured out a way out of here again but...”

“But you ended up in a deadly bar brawl, and now you’re here.”

Peter nodded and a few seconds passed before he realized that what he did couldn’t be perceived by a blind man. Matt, despite knowing what he did, waited anyway. 

“Y-yeah. Yeah... I was just out getting a drink. Trying to pass some of my time, drown my sorrows, I don’t know — a fight broke out between rival gangs, I guess. I came out of the bathroom and just got caught in the crossfire. It was an easy fight, compared to all the fights I’ve ever been in, mind you; I was just trying to protect some innocent bystanders from getting hurt. But the cops showed up and found me with my guns and that was that... I didn’t know people got killed. Not until someone told me later. I swear, it wasn’t my doing, but they didn’t believe me when I said my guns don’t shoot bullets. It couldn’t have been me.” 

“I believe you, Peter,” Matt said quickly, blinking behind the dark lenses of his glasses. When he felt Peter’s sorrowful gaze on him, he offered up a gentle smile. 

“I still don’t know what to make of all this... _ space _ stuff. But I can tell you’re not lying about this. You’re a good man who got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I’m gonna make sure you walk out of here a free man.” 


	2. New York v. Peter Quill

The courtroom was suffocatingly quiet as Peter sat, head bowed and terrified, alone at a table in the front of the room. He tried to not let his emotions show on his face, but here he had sat for half an hour already, and yet still no sign of Matt Murdock. He was beginning to wonder if the man had come to the realization that he was a hopeless cause, that maybe he had dug up too much about his past and saw him for the disaster of a person that he was. Too many brushes with the law, too many crimes upon his head — it figured that all of it would catch up to him eventually, and on Earth, no less. Peter desperately tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest, the nagging of his own thoughts that wanted to drag him down into that all-too-familiar pit of despair...

“Mr. Quill, if your attorney doesn’t show in the next five minutes, you will be appointed a public defense —“ 

The judge was cut off by the sound of a heavy door creaking open at the back of the room. With a jolt of anticipation, Peter immediately threw an arm over the back of his chair and craned his head behind him. A wave of relief washed over him at the sight of red glasses stepping into the room.

“Forgive me, Your Honor,” Murdock spoke up, tapping his cane lightly side-to-side as he made his way down the aisle. “My taxi driver took me to the wrong courthouse and, well, I didn’t quite realize until I walked into the complete incorrect hearing and someone had the decency to tell me otherwise.” His face scrunched up into a disarmingly charming smile, and Peter could practically see the frustration in the jury members’ faces melt away. No one was indecent enough to hold tardiness against a blind man fraught with the challenge of navigating this city. Even Peter let out the anxious breath he had been holding for what felt like _ flarking _ forever. Maybe even felt himself crack a smirk.

The judge nodded his head, his expression easing up as he shifted in his seat. “Very well, Mr. Murdock. Let’s hope you find better taxi drivers in the future for all our sake. Please, take a seat so we can begin.” 

As Matthew searched for the chair with the tip of his cane, Peter couldn’t help but jump up with all his anxious energy, gingerly wrapping a hand around Matt’s arm to guide him over. Peter had never felt more thankful to see someone in his life, and here he barely knew the guy. But this guy was the key to his freedom, and that meant everything in that moment. Matt graciously accepted the help, quickly taking the seat and setting his cane to rest against the table. He turned so that he could face Peter, though his eyes were clearly unfocused behind his glasses, resting somewhere on Peter’s chest. “Hey, I’m sorry I left you waiting, Peter. I tried to get here as fast as I could.” 

“Don’t sweat it. Gave me time to practice my sympathy crying and my begs for mercy,” Peter quipped with a shrug of his shoulders, trying to mask the trembling in his voice from the nerves that were wracking his body. It wasn’t lost on Matt. He offered up a small smirk of amusement to Peter in reply, then turned his attention back to the task at hand. 

The moment Matt turned away, Peter found his eyes falling to the man’s hands as they unbuttoned his suit jacket and moved to rest on his grey-panted thigh. Peter’s brow furrowed; there were bandages wrapped around Matthew’s knuckles, tinted with blood. As if sensing his gaze, Matt suddenly slipped his hand into his trouser pocket instead. Peter bit at his lip in thought for a moment before filing away his concerns for later. 

*** 

The trial droned on. Multiple witnesses were called to the stand, most claiming that Peter was definitely involved in the chaos and seen wielding guns. He recognized them as gang members, bar patrons, the shifty kind of people he recalled hanging around that night. But one woman, the woman Peter vividly remembered covering with his own body to protect her from bullets, told the jury what he really was: a hero. 

Still, Peter was scared shitless, even as a fleeting hint of a smile crossed his face, thankful for her praise. Somehow this was worse than the galaxy’s many horrors; at least he could fight his way through those. Matthew could hardly focus with Peter’s pounding heartbeat filling his head for so long. It was impossible to drown out. He knew he would be up soon, and he was rapidly trailing his fingertips across the braille in front of him, trying to remind himself of the points he wanted to make. But all the sounds coming from Peter’s anxious body — the pulsing blood, the shaky breaths, the tapping of his foot on the hard floor — were making that difficult. 

Matt finally reached over, putting a comforting hand on Peter’s forearm and squeezing. “Trust me,” he whispered, without turning his head. Much to his chagrin, Peter’s heart rate spiked even more before it eventually started to slow down. 

Peter swallowed hard as Matt let go and went back to his studying. _ Trust him? _ He didn’t even know him. But what choice did he have besides that. He despised feeling helpless, at the mercy of a man who held all the power to save him, and at the mercy of a room full of strangers to believe whatever Murdock said. _ Maybe I shouldn’t be saved. Maybe it’s better if I get locked up. At least then I could stop screwing everything up, hurting all my friends — _

“I would like to call my client to the stand.”

Peter’s eyes shot up to the front of the room where Matt now stood, shaken to find that he’d been so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice him get up. The bailiff ushered Peter out of his chair and walked him over to the stand, where Peter hesitantly sat. He shifted his limbs uncomfortably in the constricting fabric of his slightly-too-small suit, thankful they weren’t much of a thing in space; he much preferred leather. 

“Mr. Quill, let’s start at the beginning. Can you tell us how you got here?” Matt gestured with his hands resting on his walking stick. 

“Uhhh. Well, they brought me in here from the jail, I didn’t really —“ Peter watched Matt open his mouth, shaking his head slightly. He immediately shut up and realized he was doing something wrong. “Oh! Oh... uh - I came here, to Earth, from space” — the jury murmured with intrigue — “when I crash landed my ship off of Long Island. It’s an M-class Shi’ar frigate that was captured from the Fraternity of Raptors and retrofitted to our needs, but I call it the Milano. I had gotten into a dogfight, without my crew, and pushed an already-wounded ship too fast through the jump point at the wrong angle. There was no way I would’ve been able to stop before impact.” 

Peter looked out at the jury, seeing many faces contorted in confusion. _ Gee. You’d think in a city regularly invaded by extraterrestrials, little ol’ Star-Lord would be no shocker. _

Matt was prepared. He pulled a grainy photo off of the table, holding it up for the jury to see. The people eagerly leaned in to get a better look. Peter couldn’t tell, but he assumed it was a shot of the wreckage. “Here is proof of said ship with it’s right wing and cockpit damage clearly visible — or so I’m told. It was pulled from the water about a mile north of Rockaway Beach just a week ago, and taken into custody by a government space association called Alpha Flight. Mr. Quill, here — who is certainly lucky to have survived such a crash — was set up with an apartment in Gowanus, Brooklyn courtesy of this government entity, for his services to the galactic good. Galactic good, which includes our humble little planet.” Peter gave a tight-lipped, nervous smile to the jury, trying to appear the harmless good guy. Typically, he enjoyed attention, but not now, not with their scrutinizing eyes on him. 

“You see, Peter — may I call you Peter?” Matt paused, waiting for Peter’s response which came as a nod. Another awkward beat of silence passed before Peter realized and quickly verbalized a ‘y-yeah’. Matt continued. “Peter, here, comes from a place that you and I can only dream about. From the space ship, to the futuristic weaponry, to the very concept of galactic battle — everything about Peter Quill is alien to us. We can’t even begin to understand everything that is going on out there in the galaxy. _ Our _ galaxy. And what we don’t understand — what we can’t comprehend — we, as humans, tend to fear. But Peter is also human. He came from Earth, same as you or I. He feels that same fear, and yet he lives in that unbelievable, terrifying realm every day. Do you think, given his remarkable history, something as insignificant and mundane as a gang dispute in a bar would be enough to drive Mr. Quill to use lethal force? I find that highly unlikely.” 

Peter noted a few subtle nods from the heads of the jury. Most of them still looked bewildered by it all. He couldn’t blame them, sheltered in their Terran lives, keeping their heads down so much that they wouldn’t even see a meteorite if it were about to hit them. 

As Matthew continued to regale the jury with stories about his origins, — about the death of his mother, his formative years spent with the Ravagers, the creation of the Guardians of the Galaxy and their many achievements — Peter zoned out. He was protecting himself from the waves of guilt and sadness that came with each story. Instead he watched, as if in slow motion, the way Matt’s mouth formed each word. There was so much emotion contained in this single feature, Peter didn’t even need to see his eyes to understand what he was conveying. The lawyer’s silver tongue was fighting for him, for his freedom, for his honor... Peter suddenly felt his face get hot. He ran a flustered hand down it to try and wipe away his embarrassment. There wasn’t many times in his life someone had fought so hard for _ him _, of all people. He didn’t think he deserved it. 

“— and that brings us back to his weapons. Peter, would you mind describing your ‘element blasters’ for the jury? What do they do?” 

Peter snapped out of his daze, shifting in his seat and blinking hard. “Uh, well, they’re - they’re quite large. Smooth. Rather heavy. Pack a powerful punch.” — Matt raised an eyebrow — “And, oh, yeah. They, uh, shoot... elements? Like, lightning, ice, fire, even earth — which was ironic to finally use _ on _ Earth, I’ve always wanted to do that — and, um, they’re DNA locked. To me.” 

“Which means?” 

“Which means only _ I _ can shoot them.” 

“So that rules out the possibility that someone else could’ve gotten a hold of your guns and used them to harm someone, correct?” 

“Y.... yes? I can assure you, I’d never let anyone get their grimy hands on my guns, let alone have the chance to shoot them. If, y’know, they even could. But they can’t, because they aren’t me.” 

“And your guns couldn’t possibly shoot bullets, is that true?” 

“No. Er-- yes. Yes, they could never shoot bullets. They can only shoot cool things, like fireballs.” _ Except fireballs are hot, you dumbass. _

Matt gave a satisfied smirk, turning his attention back to the audience. “Bailiff, do you mind showing the jury these element guns for me?” 

The cop stepped forward, holding out a large, clear baggy that contained one of Peter’s blasters for everyone to see. There was a hum that swept across the room in muffled awe. No one had seen anything like it before, except in sci-fi movies and video games. Matt shifted his jaw in thought, quirking his head to listen to the reactions. He could only imagine what the weapons looked like — they must’ve been much more impressive than your average gun. Peter, a few feet behind him, clenched his fist in his lap anxiously. He didn’t like anyone having his most beloved possessions. It killed him to see his life laid so bare, on display like some kind of exhibit. 

“Bailiff, could you also show them the shell casings found at the crime scene?” Matthew spoke, leaning on his walking stick with a calm confidence. 

The man reached over to the table to hold up another baggy beside the element gun, this one containing small .22 caliber bullet casings. It was apparent from size alone that they could not belong to one another. 

“Now, I can’t quite tell for myself, but there should be a clear discrepancy between these two exhibits. We know what .22 caliber bullets look like. We know that the gun they come from leaves a distinct groove in the spent bullet when it’s fired. This groove, if there was any to be found in Mr. Quill’s blasters, couldn’t possibly match up. It’s illogical. He can probably back me up on this, but I’m sure nowhere else in the universe manufactures .22 caliber pistols except our planet. So unless Peter picked up another weapon — which fingerprint analysis denies — there is no way he could be responsible for the crime. Peter never shot with intent to kill. He acted defensively. He courageously protected an innocent life, throwing himself into the line of fire and using his resources to end the fight as non-violently as possible. New York should be grateful to have heroes like him, no matter where they come from. I rest my case.” 

Matt folded up his cane with a triumphant dignity, turning to acknowledge Peter with a nod. As the jury was dismissed for deliberation, Peter finally let out the breath he felt as if he had been holding through the entire trial and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. The tension wasn’t over yet, but he felt like he actually had a chance at walking out of there. Free. He was ushered off the stand, and accompanied over to where Matt stood with a confident smile on his face. 

Peter couldn’t find the words to express his gratitude as he stood before him. “You’re one hell of a man, Matt Murdock.” 

** 

Matthew didn’t want to admit his trepidation as the jury was led back into the courtroom, sitting next to the man whose future hung in the balance. He could only hope he tipped the scale in Peter’s favor. But this trial was unprecedented; there was really no telling how the jury reacted to such ludicrously outlandish stories, or if he even convinced them of believing they were real. Matt still wasn’t entirely sure of that himself. Beside him, he sensed that Peter ran a clammy hand through his hair, feeling the pressure mounting. He heard his heavy breaths, the trembling in his chest... Matt didn’t want to fail him. 

“The jury has come to a decision,” the judge’s voice broke the tension. Peter clenched his hands together. “We, the jury, find Peter Quill not guilty of all charges. His property shall be released to him henceforth with the ruling that it shall not be used, in any capacity, during the duration of his stay on this planet or they will be subject to permanent confiscation by the State of New York and subsequent arrest. We, the jury, also declare that Peter Quill shall pay a fine of no less than $10,000, for the damage to private and government property done by his firearms. If there are no objections to this ruling, the defendant is therefore free to leave. Court adjourned.” 

“Haha, yes! Oh, thank god!” Peter leapt up out of his chair, slamming his hands into the table. He laughed with so much sweet, sweet relief, he felt himself get lightheaded. Matt stood slower, clicking his cane back together, chuckling genuinely along with him. He shook his head at how boyish the man sounded. To Matt’s surprise, Peter suddenly grabbed his shoulders in his broad hands and shook him slightly, almost pulling him in towards Peter’s chest. Matt wasn’t going to stop him. But just as Peter started to bring him into a hug, he paused, awkwardly clapping Matt’s shoulder instead. Matt could only laugh off the moment, ignoring the lurch his heart took.

“I — thank you. Seriously. I - I - I don’t know how to repay you,” Peter rambled breathlessly, hands still on Matt. “I don’t exactly have that much money. Earth money, at least. And —“ 

“You don’t need to pay me, Peter. I took your case pro-bono. It was my pleasure.” 

Peter licked his lips, trying to catch up with his racing thoughts. He smiled at Matt, even if the man couldn’t see, then slowly dropped his hands after a second, small squeeze. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well, could I at least buy you a drink? I promise I won’t get into any brawls while we’re there. Cross my heart, hope to die.” 

Matt gave a hearty chuckle that lit up his entire face, crinkling the corners of his cheeks. He adjusted his glasses. “Alright, alright. I suppose I can accept that. Just... make sure to leave those guns at home.” 

As Matt gathered his papers into his satchel, Peter bit his lip to keep from smiling too much. He couldn’t believe he was getting out of there, almost scot-free. And with his guns. And his helmet, and jet boots. The $10,000 fine was... perhaps less than ideal, but he’d think about that later. He nodded eagerly. “Okay. No guns. Scout’s honor.” 

Matt slung his bag over his shoulder and flashed a smirk at Peter as he stepped into the aisle.

“Josie’s Bar. 48th and 11th. Let’s say 8:30.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how does matt murdock talk so eloquently all the time? exhausting...  
but fun to write (:


	3. Josie's

The sky above Hell’s Kitchen hung heavy with rain as Peter stepped out of the subway station, completely unprepared. It was going to take some time to adjust to life in a city as opposed to a spaceship; bringing an umbrella with him would hopefully be a habit he learned to adopt. There was rain on almost every planet, but not all rain was made equal. New York’s certainly was in a league of its own — the way it fell in drifting sheets, deceptively light but capable of drenching you in moments. He was at least thankful to have put on a sweater to keep out the chill of the wind as he hurried down the block. 

Peter knew he was late. He had spent too long trying to navigate the exchange from the R line to the Q to get from his place in Brooklyn back over to Midtown West. Give him a console with a million different buttons and switches, and he can jump lightyears in a second, but a $2.75 fare and a train that smells like piss? That posed a challenge. 

By the time he had crossed the five blocks to 11th Ave, Peter was soaked. His hair — typically so fluffy it’s unruly — hung limply in darkened, dripping tendrils above his forehead, and his jeans practically felt vaccu-formed to his thighs. Finally, he saw the red neon casting it’s light upon the puddles and catching in the raindrops, that read ‘JOSIE’S.’ He came to a jogging stop at the door, pausing for a moment to catch his breath and run a hand through his soggy hair before going in. 

Peter looked around the dimly-lit bar for a familiar face, squinting through the red haze. Suddenly, he noticed a blond man waving at him from a table in the back of the room. 

“Shit — is that him? Tall, beardy, handsome. Borderline Greek statue, to be honest,” Foggy Nelson whispered under his breath to Matt, eyeing Peter from afar as he approached. 

“How would I know, Foggy?” 

“Because the dude just _ looks _ like a hero, and somehow you _ always _ know.” 

Matt turned in his seat, putting an arm over the back of the chair. Of course, he knew it was Peter before he even crossed through the door — he heard him cursing to himself at least two and half blocks away. But then he got the confirmation he needed, for his friends’ sake. 

“Oh, hey! Hey, I’m so sorry I’m late.” Peter paced over to their table quickly, having finally realized Matt was there. “Subways aren’t exactly my forte.” 

“Well, I suppose that’s just payback for earlier,” Matt joked, throwing Peter a grin. He gestured a hand across the table. “Ah, Peter, these are my lovely partners and greatest friends, the honorable Foggy Nelson and Karen Page.” 

The tall, lanky Karen, who had just come back from the bar with a fresh drink and hadn’t yet sat, held out her free hand for Peter. Her face lit up with a bashful smile. “Oh, uh, Peter — so nice to meet you. Matt told us you were coming.”

A little bewildered, Peter took her delicate hand and shook it once, offering her up a gentle smile. Her large, blue eyes seemed to never quite meet his for more than a moment. “Thanks, I — I had no idea you’d be here, sorry.” He felt a little foolish, not knowing that there would be extra company tonight. Not that it was a big deal. 

“Have a seat, man,” Foggy said, pulling up an empty one between he and Matt. Peter sat down tentatively, feeling the tug of his wet pants as they refused to stop clinging to his body. “Quill, right? I saw Matt pouring over your files loooong into the night. You’ve got... one hell of a life, my friend.” 

Peter gave a little chuckle, feeling slightly self-conscious. There was a lot of that feeling going around today-- surely a hell of a lot more than he was accustomed to. “Nice to meet you too,” he ribbed with a smirk. 

“Ah, shit — sorry. Foggy.” The short, blonde man held out his hand and Peter shook it, with a little more confidence than his first go. “Sometimes I get ahead of myself. Anyway, you look like you could use a drink there, Pete.” 

“Hah — uh, do I?” Peter ran a hand over his hair to smooth it back a little, but droplets of water still trailed down his face and into his beard. 

Matt nodded beside him. “You should trust Foggy, he tells me I look like shit all the time and usually he’s right.” 

“Then you should learn to take your own advice more often,” Foggy retorted jokingly. He leaned over to Peter. “This guy never listens to a word I tell him —“

“Come on, that’s not true!” 

“Peter, I think you look fine. Just a little... _ under the weather _,” Karen interjected. Foggy groaned. “What? I thought it was clever.” 

Peter laughed genuinely, feeling something he hadn’t felt in awhile and was sorely lacking — the warmth of friendship. The kind of friendship he had with the Guardians. Key word: had. They weren’t on speaking terms at the moment. But everything he missed was evident there, between these three. He felt a little less lonely in their presence. Suddenly, a hand on his sweater sleeve shocked Peter out of his thoughts. It was Matt’s. 

“Wow, you really are drenched.” He pulled his hand away almost as quickly as he had placed it. “Sorry, just wanted to know what the fuss was about. Here — uh, let me get you a drink. That might warm you up.” Matt moved to stand but Peter moved with him, creating an awkward shuffle as they both got out of their chairs simultaneously. 

“Hey, I’m supposed to be the one buying you a drink, remember?” Peter said quickly. 

Matt didn’t hesitate as he grabbed his walking stick and moved towards the bar counter. “Yes, well — you can still get me that drink. I’m just getting you one as well.” 

At the table, Foggy and Karen exchanged a look as the two men walked away. It was unusual for Matt to bring a client out to Josie’s, even a client for whom he had just won a case. Foggy put a hand up. “Uh, can I request a refill?” 

Matt only made a face in response, so Peter offered up, “What’ll ya have?” 

“Scotch. On the rocks. You’re a godsend.” 

Peter found himself winking and throwing a finger-gun in reply. Old habits die hard. He kicked himself mentally for doing such a thing. Foggy put his hands up as if in surprise, whispering to Karen. “And he’s charming! What does this guy not have?” 

Matt lifted himself into a stool at the bar, keeping one foot casually on the floor. He chuckled at Foggy’s request. “Keep being so generous and you’ll be stuck paying off that $10,000 fine until you’re grey.” 

“How do you know I’m not grey already?” Peter said, leaning on the bar beside him. 

“Are you?” 

“...no.” 

Matt smirked. “Then my point remains.” 

“Fine,” Peter grinned. “Maybe you have a point. I should revoke that drink offer.” He mimed walking away, stomping on the ground like a father trying to trick their child into thinking they were leaving. Then he went still. 

“Peter,” Matt said flatly. “I know you’re still standing there.” 

“D’ast —“ Peter snapped his fingers — “Alright, fine, I’ll buy it.” 

Matt gave him a quizzical grimace. “What was that?” 

“I’ll buy you that drink. What’re you getting?” 

“No — what’s that thing you said?” 

“D’ast? Oh. It’s, uh, I guess it’s like saying ‘damn’ in Terran — I mean, in English.” 

“Ah,” Matt nodded slowly, the reminder that Peter wasn’t entirely... _ normal _ sinking in. The reminder that there was a whole galaxy full of cultures and customs he couldn’t even begin to pretend to know. “Sorry, I’ll, um... I’ll let you decide. Just — no clear alcohol. Gives me headaches.” 

Let him decide? That was a challenge. Peter looked at Matt for a long moment — he was obviously a clean-cut lawyer type with his dress shirt rolled to his elbows, but there was something else there, something behind the choice of red glasses and letting his face grow a decently thick scruff. Maybe he just couldn’t shave well, or often. Maybe he didn’t know they were red. Maybe the scars that dotted his face were also just of consequence, and not made from conscious action — just like the bandages on his hands. But maybe not. 

“He’ll have an Old Fashioned,” Peter told the bartender, a gruff woman who seemed like she couldn’t care less what he wanted. “And I’ll also get a scotch, on the rocks.” 

“And he’ll have the beer on tap and a shot of well whiskey,” Matt chimed in. “Thanks, Josie.” 

“....How’d you know?” Peter was impressed that he seemed to nail his taste in libations. Of course, he had just been reading Matt, but he didn’t quite expect the same to be done to him. 

Matt smiled coyly, his eyes falling somewhere on Peter’s face. “Roguish spaceman often strapped for cash, hanging out in — what I can assume are — some of the galaxy’s shadiest bars with his ragtag group of cohorts, trying to get drunk on the cheap. Sounds like a beer and bad whiskey kind of man to me.” 

“Ouch, Matt,” Peter replied, feigning insult with excessive dramatics. “I don’t think we know each other well enough for _ that _ kind of ragging yet. Here I am, just trying to thank you for saving my ass, and I’m getting roasted.” 

Throwing his head back, Matt gave a laugh, grinning widely. If it weren’t so charming, Peter would almost feel embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m sorry — I may have abused my attorney privilege there. Got a drink or two in me before you showed up.” Matt waved his hand disarmingly. “But — I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Honest.” 

Josie slid them their drinks without a word; Peter snatched them up quickly, nudging Matt’s drink towards his open hand. “Only minor offense taken,” Peter replied, hoping his sarcasm came across. This time, he offered up his arm for Matt to take as they walked back to the table.

Matt allowed himself to be guided by Peter’s still-damp sleeve, smiling to himself. “For the record, the Old Fashioned? It happens to be my favorite. At least, when we’re not just downing a bottle of whatever Foggy bought. You’re a good guess — or you’re more astute than I thought.” Peter didn’t know what ‘astute’ meant, but he hoped it was a compliment. 

“Alright, one scotch on the rocks, hand delivered by yours truly,” Peter said as they shuffled back into their seats, handing the drink over to Foggy. 

“You are a gentleman and a scholar, my friend. Thank God Matt kept you out of prison.” Foggy took a big swig of the scotch, hissing as it burned down his throat. He gave a thumbs up; Peter raised his beer in salute. 

Karen leaned forward, closing some of the distance across the table. “Peter, are you really from space? Like, you just live out there, all the time. That’s... not a joke, right?” 

“Um... yep! Yeah,” Peter nodded, trying to understand what her perspective must be. “I, uh — not a joke. I live on a spaceship. That’s real. That’s been... well, I guess you could say it’s home. Been home since I was a kid.” 

“A kid?” Foggy interjected with disbelief. “Oh my god, did you _ actually _ get abducted by aliens?!” 

Peter gave an awkward laugh, taking a gulp of his beer to drown it away. “Kind of, actually. Not the ‘I’m going to probe you and fill you with creepy eggs’ kind of alien abduction, more like the ‘I’m going to kidnap you because your crazy dad wants to kill you’ kind of way.” Both Karen and Foggy looked bewildered; Matt’s expression stayed attentive, yet unsurprised, as he sipped on his cocktail. He obviously had a leg up on the conversation. 

“Peter’s from here, though — half, at least,” Matt commented, aware that his friends were stupefied. 

Foggy shook his head, his mouth agape. “Oh my god, I’ve definitely seen an Unsolved Mysteries episode about you, I just know it.” 

Peter could only make a puzzled face in response, not knowing what that was. 

“Peter, that’s just — I’m sorry, this is blowing my mind a little,” Karen looked down at the table with wide eyes. “So, you were abducted as a kid, and you’ve just spent your whole life up there being.... a superhero. A superhero astronaut. What about your family? Didn’t they worry about what happened to you?” 

A pang of sadness shot through Peter’s heart. For a moment, he thought that he might crumble and let down the defenses he’d built up around himself, crying in front of these three acquaintances. But he didn’t. Instead, he just smiled weakly, almost out of pity. “Nah,” he said softly, taking another swig. “My mother died before I was taken. It’s probably best that the rest of my family believe I’m as good as gone. They always thought the cancer made her crazy when she talked about my dad -- a ‘man from the heavens, composed of pure light’. How could I even begin to explain everything I’ve been through all these years?” Peter’s slow, steady heartbeat pulsed in Matthew’s ear as he cocked his head to listen. Behind his glasses, his dark eyes were downcast and sorrowful. If anyone understood what it felt like to lose a parent to tragedy and be taken from their family, it was him. Perhaps he and Peter had more in common than he thought, but now didn’t seem the place to bring it up. 

“I could.... help you.” Karen tentatively reached across the table to place a light, compassionate hand on Peter’s; the warmth of her touch nearly made him crack. She nodded resolutely. “Yeah, I... I could help you. I could write an article all about you — tell your story, let the world know who Peter Quill is and what you’ve done for the galaxy. Just blow all this crazy stuff wide open! The world deserves to know what’s out there, and your family deserves to know what happened to you.” 

“Karen, no offense, but I’m not sure telling the world that their protection against all the alien menaces in the galaxy is just a single guy with no powers and his group of friends is such a good idea,” Matt chimed in. “N-no offense to you either, Peter.” 

Foggy scoffed. “Well, they seem to be fine with the Avengers. Or are we all just going to pretend that the Battle of New York didn’t happen.” 

“You do know there are a lot of people who aren’t fine with the Avengers, right?” Matt rubbed his thumb on his hand thoughtfully. “People still aren’t comfortable talking about what happened there. I don’t think we need to shock them again by ‘blowing all this crazy stuff wide open’.” 

“Uhhh, remind me -- what the flark was the Battle of New York?” This conversation was moving much too fast for Peter. The other three only looked at him, remembering that there was a lot he apparently didn’t know. 

Karen started to open her mouth but Matt cut her off. “I’m sure we can explain it to you some other time, Peter.” They didn’t have time to unpack all that. This was supposed to be a fun night.

Picking up on the awkward silence that followed, Foggy raised his half-drank glass to the middle of the table. “To Peter Quill, our outrageously cool new pal from outer space. May he continue to save our sorry Earthling asses from scary aliens thanks to Matt’s masterful arguing skills.”

Everyone laughed and raised their glasses — Peter raised his shot glass of whiskey — to meet his, then took a collective swig of their drinks. Peter downed the shot, feeling a shiver run through his body at the taste. It wasn’t good whiskey, at all. Just the way he preferred it. He couldn’t help that his mind wandered back to the Guardians, how they had ridiculous toasts after their shared successes — and failures. He wondered where they were at that moment, somewhere in the galaxy. He wondered if they were thinking of him at all. He wondered how long it would be until he screwed things up irreparably with Foggy, Karen, and Matt and end up alone. Again. 

Suddenly, Matt moved to get up out of his seat, tossing back the rest of his Old Fashioned quickly. He rolled his sleeves back down, buttoning them at his wrists. “Sorry, I, uh, I just remembered I’ve got a case in the morning that I need to study up on. It’s getting late. I hope you’ll excuse me, Peter.” Pulling his suit jacket from the back of his chair and hastily throwing it on, Matt offered an apologetic smile to Peter, who looked slightly offended at his departure. Thankfully Matt wouldn’t be able to tell. “Oh, and um, thank you for the drink.” 

As Matt nodded once, taking his cane in his hands and heading for the door, Peter jumped out of his seat and trailed after him. “Hey, do you need someone to walk with you? Because I cou —“ 

Matt paused just as he crossed through the door into the rain, which had dwindled to a light misting. Peter stopped with him.

“I’ll be fine. The rest of you have your fun without me.” 

As he was about to turn the corner, he threw Peter one last, quick smile. “Goodnight, Peter.” 

“G’night....” Peter muttered after Matt had disappeared around the corner, giving a half-hearted wave at nothing. But Matt, as he walked briskly down the block, certainly heard him. He listened as Peter stood outside for a long moment, sighed, and went back inside the bar. 

Foggy watched as Peter came walking back to the table with his hands in his pockets, and nodded in understanding. “Yeah, he does that a lot. You’ll get used to it eventually.” 

***

After a couple hours of drinking and Peter regaling Karen and Foggy with his wild galactic adventures, drunk and cheery, they finally decided to call it a night. Foggy was nearly too drunk to stand — Karen and Peter supported him from either side as they made their way out the door and hailed a cab, giggling and wobbling all the way looking like a gaggle of dumb blondes. 

Once they had gotten Foggy inside the backseat of the taxi, Karen turned, motioning for Peter to come with. “Pete, you coming?” 

Peter waved a dismissive hand and made a frown, shaking his head slightly. “Nah, I’ll, uh, I’ll take the subway. I’m all the way in Brooklyn.” 

After a moment of letting his answer sink into her inebriated head, Karen nodded in acknowledgement and wrapped her arms around him. Peter was practically frozen — it was so unexpected to him that all he could do was stand there, letting the warmth of it sink in. She quickly let go again, gave him a smile, and got into the cab. “Get home safe, okay?” she said, closing the door. 

As he watched the red taillights drive off, Peter smiled softly to himself and walked away in the other direction. His heart felt full; his loneliness cured for the night even if all his problems weren’t solved. He was a free man. And he had new friends with whom he could pass his time on Earth. It wasn’t such a bad deal. 

Meandering his way towards the subway several blocks away, Peter started singing to himself. He scuffed his feet along the sidewalk, putting one foot behind the other and giving a little twirl which nearly made him fall over. _ Too drunk for that, Pete. Just try to get home in one piece. _He was so distracted by himself in his drunken stupor that he didn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind him. 

Suddenly, a hand grabbed the back of Peter’s sweater and yanked him. A sharp point was pressed against his back, threatening to drive straight through the fabric and into his flesh. “Hey, hey! What the —!” Peter yelped, throwing his hands up in alarm. 

“Give me your fucking money, asshole!” 

“Look, I — I don’t have any cash, dude, I just spent it all!” 

The knife was pushed tighter against him, threatening to break skin. Peter hissed in pain. He had to think of something he could do to get him off, fast. _ If only I had my krutackin’ blasters, I’d make you sorry you little — _

Thud!

The man suddenly fell to the ground behind him, a stick of metal skittering across the concrete by his head. Peter spun on his heel, stumbling, to witness the bizarre scene — the crook was knocked out cold. His hazel eyes darted around wildly, desperately searching in the dark street for whatever might attack him next. On the rooftop, he thought he caught the shifting of a shadow, darker than the clouds above, illuminated by the city lights. But he couldn’t be sure. The whole world was practically moving from all the alcohol. “H-hey! Who’s there!?” Peter called out, his voice echoing off the brick. But he saw nothing else, and heard no one. Nothing but the rumble of the subway underneath the street. He swiped a hand across his nose, breathing heavily. 

Looking back down at the metal stick, Peter nudged it gingerly with his foot, half expecting it to explode. It clanked across the ground, but nothing happened. Just a stick of silver and red — well-made, sturdy, obviously not a piece of junk.

“Huh.” Peter looked back up at the buildings, searching for whoever or whatever saved him. He called out again. “Uh, thank you... I guess.” 

Then, rubbing the stinging in his back, Peter put his head down and walked off towards the subway. If this was a typical day in New York City, he was in for a wild ride. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love love love writing foggy, I've discovered. that is all.  
TO BE CONTINUED SOON! I promise.


End file.
